The ongoing saga of being a ongoing father of two - one with autism and one who died for 20 minutes.
From pre-birth, birth and through those difficult toddler years.
It's definitely a life changing event going from singleton to parent.

Wednesday, 24 February 2010

As Emily races towards her second birthday, her personality is becoming much more apparent. Her cheeky grin, her predilection to making her teddies kiss, and her "terrible twos" temper.

In the past, Em has become moody for one of a couple of reasons - tired, hungry or thirsty. Now, she seems to be figuring out what all parents dread - when something's not going her way, crying and screaming help!

It doesn't help matters that she STILL can't talk, so when a happy go lucky mood turns to a sea of tears in seconds, it leaves Sue and I more than a little perplexed. Skipping to worse case scenarios, I continue to imagine that something's exploded inside (appendix perhaps?) or she's been poisoned and THIS is her last breath.

Of course, it's more often than not her attempt to tell us something, generally that she's not down with the current situation - don't want to be in the pram, grocery shopping isn't a job fit for little girls or there's no way in hell that bath water is going over this head.

All in all, I realise that the placid happy ALL the time Emily is a thing of the past, and that trying to sort out her moods and crying sessions is just the latest in a long line of "I have no clue what's going on with my child" scenario that I will continue to face long into the future

As Emily races towards her second birthday, her personality is becoming much more apparent. Her cheeky grin, her predilection to making her teddies kiss, and her "terrible twos" temper.

In the past, Em has become moody for one of a couple of reasons - tired, hungry or thirsty. Now, she seems to be figuring out what all parents dread - when something's not going her way, crying and screaming help!

It doesn't help matters that she STILL can't talk, so when a happy go lucky mood turns to a sea of tears in seconds, it leaves Sue and I more than a little perplexed. Skipping to worse case scenarios, I continue to imagine that something's exploded inside (appendix perhaps?) or she's been poisoned and THIS is her last breath.

Of course, it's more often than not her attempt to tell us something, generally that she's not down with the current situation - don't want to be in the pram, grocery shopping isn't a job fit for little girls or there's no way in hell that bath water is going over this head.

All in all, I realise that the placid happy ALL the time Emily is a thing of the past, and that trying to sort out her moods and crying sessions is just the latest in a long line of "I have no clue what's going on with my child" scenario that I will continue to face long into the future